


losing everything just to gain it back again

by the_one_that_fell



Series: just two kids without their jackets [2]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Career Change, Difficult Decisions, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Non-Linear Narrative, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-12-21 19:09:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11950773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_one_that_fell/pseuds/the_one_that_fell
Summary: After losing his last game, Jack makes a difficult decision.





	losing everything just to gain it back again

**Author's Note:**

> _And we come and we go_  
>  Like the winter and the spring  
> Losing everything just to gain it back again  
> -Noah Gundersen, Middle of June

When the confetti rained down in the other team’s colors, Jack felt a cold wave of numbness wash over him. 

_ I don’t want to be alive anymore _ , he thought, chest tightening with shame and fear.  _ I want to die _ .

A pause. A breath.

_ Oh. _

 

* * *

“Holy fuck,” Shitty said, staring out over the ice. “You know what? You’re gonna be back here in, like, a few months, huh?”

Jack shrugged, scrolling through his preliminary shots to test the lighting.  “I guess so...I haven’t actually signed yet.” 

Shitty snorted, hand on his hip. “Jack, surprise me and  _ don’t _ join the NHL. Surprise me and do, like,  _ competitive fucking horticulture. _ ”

Before Jack could respond, another voice from behind them called, “Hey, y’all!” 

“Oh.” Jack turned, fighting the urge to smile. “Hey, Bittle.” 

Bittle and Shitty chatted for a moment about the oddness of never playing with Samwell again. Jack took a few more shots of the ice, trying not to think of the cute way Bittle’s grown-out playoffs hair curled around his ears. 

“-mega weird,” Shitty said, looking sad. 

And it was weird.  _ Mega _ weird. Jack had never played with a team quite like Samwell and he knew that he never would again. Shitty would move onto law school and pursuing his career, and Jack would stay here, chasing the high of his first goal, never quite finding that sense of purpose again. It made him too sad, so Jack cleared his throat and said, “It’s weird, but we can’t think of it as our last game. We’ve made it this far by playing in the moment. We’ll leave everything on the ice because that’s what we do. It’s one more game.” He felt his throat tightening, felt Bittle’s eyes on him. “Just one more.” 

And it was. For whatever reason, Jack skated out onto the ice that evening with the overwhelming sense that this would be his last game  _ ever _ .

 

* * *

As soon as he could slip away, Jack did. He shed his jersey and skates like a snake rutting against rocks to pull off its old skin and stumbled to a loading bay. It was cold and dark and Jack sat there, shaking, wishing the ground would open up and swallow him whole so he wouldn’t have to feel this way anymore. 

_ It was just a game _ , he could hear his mother whisper. 

_ <<You’ll get ‘em next time,>> _ his father said. 

Jack could feel their hands on his back, in his hair, and the phantom touches crawled across his skin like invisible roaches. He squirmed and tensed and tried not to cry out in horror. His hands prickled and his lips went numb and a panic attack was approaching quickly-

He heard the footsteps a moment too late, and then two warm arms were around him, squeezing tight. 

Jack knew without looking it was Bittle. Of course it was Bittle. 

The pins and needles dancing across his body calmed as Jack leaned into Bittle’s embrace. He wanted to be wrapped up in that warmth, pressed under the solidness of Bittle’s body. Shitty would surely offer to cuddle him tonight, but Jack wanted Bittle, wanted Bittle’s kind hands and tentative smiles and honey-rich laughter. 

Around them, muffled by the walls and the blood pounding in Jack’s ears, the sounds of celebration carried through the halls. Bittle tightened his embrace, burying his face in Jack’s shoulder, and Jack could feel him shaking. He was crying, too. 

Was he crying for the loss or for Jack? 

Did it really matter, either way? 

 

* * *

Jack was so tired when he logged onto Samwell’s website that he could barely read the words on the screen. 

_ Samwell University Graduate Programs  _ jumped out at him in big, red letters. He’d known, technically, that Samwell had to have a few in order to be designated a university and not simply a college, but the programs were small and the grad students blended in with everyone else. Jack thought one of his TAs might’ve been in the Education program, but she could’ve just been a senior looking for extra work. 

“What’s the harm in applying?” He murmured to himself. “You can always turn down an offer, if you even get one.” 

At the bottom of the screen, after paragraphs upon paragraphs exalting the school’s reputation and course catalogue, sat a small due date:  _ February 26 _

That was just a few weeks away. And Jack was in the middle of the season, he had a draft of his thesis due soon, he had meetings with GMs and his agent and-

There was a quiet knock at his door. “Jack, you awake?”

Jack was always astonished at how calm he felt around Bittle these days. Even just the sound of his voice made Jack feel like everything  _ wasn’t _ too much to handle, if he just kept pushing forward. “Come in,” he called, setting his laptop to the side. 

Bittle pushed the door open slowly, peeking in as if he’d misheard Jack. In his hand was a plate of food—frozen chicken tenders and freshly cooked home fries, Jack’s favorite. “You weren’t at team dinner, so I thought you might be hungry,” he said, smiling worriedly. “It’s okay if you’re not- oh, you probably had a meeting or a date or something, I can just put this in the fridge for later-”

“Bittle.” Jack stood and plucked the plate from his hand. “Thank you.” 

Bittle shrugged, smile brightening. “Can’t let my captain starve.” 

Jack laughed and shook his head, reaching out to ruffle Bittle’s hair in the way that always annoyed him. “Don’t know what I’d do without you,” he chirped, voice teasing but intent real. Jack really  _ didn’t _ know what he’d do without Bittle’s cooking, or his chirping, or his sunny, wonderful smile. His life would certainly be less bright, that was for sure. 

“Stop,” Bitty whined, slapping at Jack’s hand. “See if I ever cook for you again.”

“Thanks for dinner,” Jack said, frowning slightly as Bittle yawned. “Now go to bed. Captain’s orders.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Bittle rolled his eyes but grinned. “One day you won’t get to boss me around anymore.”

“But that’s not today,” Jack retorted. “Night, Bits.” 

Bittle smiled and waved. “Night, Jack.” 

Jack waited until Bittle’s door closed with a small click, then he set down the food and grabbed his laptop again, looking at the Samwell website again with a renewed determination. 

_ Just in case _ , he thought.  _ Just in case. _

 

* * *

“It’s a sign,” Jack murmured, voice croaking and harsh in the relative silence of the loading bay. “To move on.” 

Bittle looked up at him, confused. “Move on?” 

Jack nodded, swallowing back another round of tears. “From hockey.” 

“You didn’t lose this game by yourself,” Bittle said quickly, and Jack wondered if he’d rehearsed that line in his head while they’d been sitting here. “We’re a  _ team _ .” 

“Bittle, you know the first thing I thought after that game?” Jack looked down at his hands, flopped uselessly on his lap and trembling even now. “I wanted to die. I wanted to kill myself- over what? Over- over a game?” He hung his head, too ashamed to see Bittle’s reaction. “I can’t...I think going pro would be suicide. I don’t think I’d survive it.”

“Oh.” There was a long, tense, horrible moment, and then two rough hands cupped Jack’s face, forcing him to look up. “Okay.” 

There were tears in Bittle’s eyes now, tears for Jack, tears for it all. He leaned his forehead against Jack’s, their noses bumping gently. 

“Okay,” he said again, clearly at a loss for words. Jack never thought he’d live to see that day.

“I don’t think I should be alone tonight,” Jack admitted, the warmth of Bittle’s hands soaking into the chilled skin of his face. “Will you-? Would you-?”

“Of course,” Bittle said, nodding. “Always, Jack.” 

Always. That was a word Jack had heard before.  _ We’ll always play together, Zimms,  _ drifted through his mind. << _ You’ll always be able to go back to the sport.>> _

_ I’ll always want to be in the NHL. _

But this time, coming from Bittle, Jack actually believed it.

He ignored just how much he wanted an  _ always _ with Bittle. There would be time to think about that later.

 

* * *

Calling his father two days after Frozen Four was the scariest thing Jack had ever done. 

He had called the morning after, of course, to assure his mother and father he was alright, wasn’t upset, wasn’t  _ dead _ . But he’d thought about it, now, thought about leaving hockey with a clear head. His heart ached at the thought of never playing again, never playing professionally, but cold dread washed over him at the thought of signing  _ anywhere _ and, well- his therapist had agreed. It was time he started listening to his emotions. It was time he did something for his health instead of his dream. 

_ An investment for the future, _ he’d heard himself describe to her.  _ Ensuring my future, really. _

With one last breath for courage, Jack hit his father’s contact and waited as it dialed. The phone only rang twice before his father answered, sounding a bit out of breath, like he’d run to accept the call. 

_ <<Hello? Jack, is everything okay?>> _

Jack cleared his throat and shifted from foot to foot.  _ <<Yeah, Papa, everything’s fine. I, um...I wanted to let you know…>> _

There was a sigh from the other side of the line.  _ <<Have you decided where you’re signing? Jack, do not worry about my reaction, I will be proud of you no matter what team you choose. It’s your decision, not mine.>> _

_ <<Right,>> _ Jack said, clenching and unclenching his free hand.  _ <<About that. I don’t want to sign anywhere.>> _

There was a silence from the other line that nearly sent Jack into a panic attack. Then, very quietly, his father asked,  _ <<Is this because you lost Nationals?>> _

It was better than the anger he’d imagined, the disgust at years and money and dreams wasted.  _ <<Yes,>> _ Jack admitted, because there was no point in lying.  _ <<But, Papa, it’s not- it’s not what you->> _

_ <<Jack, you’ve faced losses before. In a week you’ll feel better and regret rejecting any of the offers. Let me get your mother, she’s always been better at talking about this sort of thing->> _

_ <<I wanted to kill myself after Nationals,>> _ Jack said bluntly, sitting down on his bed.  _ <<I can’t keep feeling this way. I can’t keep putting all of myself into this game. It’s going to be the death of me.>> _

Jack could hear his father’s sharp intake of breath, then the muttered, “I’m getting your mother on the line.” 

This wasn’t what Jack wanted, but it was what he’d expected. They were going to make an ordeal out of this, maybe come down to have a family therapy session, but at least they didn’t sound mad. Disappointment from them was something he’d been learning to live with from early childhood; he’d make it through this.

“Jack?” 

Maman sounded frazzled, something that was always disconcerting coming from her. Jack swallowed back his fears and said, “Dad’s overreacting.” 

“I am  _ not _ ,” he could hear Papa mutter in the background. 

“Jack, sweetheart, you’ve wanted to play hockey since before you could walk,” his mother said placatingly. “You can understand why we’re...surprised.” 

“I thought the therapy was working,” Papa said, a little harsher than Jack thought he’d intended. “Now he’s suicidal. We need to come down there-”

“And we will,” Maman said, cutting him off. “But, Jack, honey, is this...common? You never mentioned this sort of thing in…”

_ Rehab _ was the unspoken word in his family, the one they never quite could spit out. Jack wondered if they’d even told people that’s where he was, or if they’d skirted around that like they did everything else.

“Yes,” Jack said sharply. “Too common. I try to talk it out in therapy but...I think I want to live a normal life. I applied to one of Samwell’s grad programs, I should be hearing back soon. And if I don’t get in there, I’ve been talking to my advisor-”

“Grad school?” Papa sounded surprised. “You...what degree?” 

“Business,” Jack said, feeling his face heat up. Maybe it was a stupid decision, a stupid degree, but surely his parents wouldn’t say that out loud-

“Why?” Maman asked, sounding genuinely curious. 

“I…” Jack shrugged, forgetting his parents couldn’t see him. “I think I’d be good at management, of any sort. Bittle and I have... _ joked _ about me becoming his manager when he’s famous, but I...I like that idea. I’m organized, I like strategy and planning and overseeing a team. I...think it would be a good choice for me.” 

“Oh, Jack.” There was a sniffle on the other line, and some muttering Jack couldn’t make out. “Oh, honey, that sounds great.” 

There would be the talk about money, probably, the wasting of it up until now and the ongoing tuition. There would be a group therapy session in the next week or so, where Jack would be forced to admit his weaknesses to his father. There would be ugly news articles and upset uncles and prying questions. But right now, they were okay with it, and Jack let himself breathe. 

“So...Bittle, eh?” Papa asked, and Jack wondered if they’d believe he had to get to class at 8 pm on a Sunday. 

 

* * *

When they got back to campus that night, Jack let Bittle pull him away from the rest of the team. They took the long way home, meandering along the river like they’d done a hundred times before. Jack’s hand bumped against Bittle’s a few times, but neither reached out. It wasn’t the time for that, Jack knew. 

When they reached the Haus, it was dark and silent. Jack could hear Lardo’s voice faintly coming from Shitty’s room, and the usual thundering shakes coming from the attic as two elephant-sized dudes wandered around, but other than that, it was unnervingly quiet. Bittle ushered Jack into his room, dropping his bag at the foot of Jack’s bed. 

“So I can sleep in the armchair, if you want,” Bittle said, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Or…” 

Jack slumped down onto his bed and patted the space next to him. Bittle smiled wearily and crawled onto the bed. They’d changed into sweats after the game instead of their game-day suits— the coaches looked the other day, too sad themselves to tell the boys any different—so neither felt the need to change or brush their teeth or anything. Jack kicked his shoes off; Bittle slowly untied his and set them down on the floor. 

“Night, Bittle,” Jack said softly, laying his head down on the pillow. 

“Night, Jack,” Bittle whispered, giving Jack one last sad smile. 

“And...thanks,” Jack added. “For this. For everything.” 

“‘Course,” Bittle said, reaching out to squeeze Jack’s hand “Always.” 

For the first time in a while, Jack was starting to like the sound of that. 

 

* * *

“You’re not signing? Anywhere?” 

Jack looked up at Shitty and didn’t see any trace of judgement or anger in his face. Just concern, just like Bittle. 

“No,” Jack said, toying with the edge of his comforter. “I’m going into competitive horticulture.” 

“Fucking  _ hell _ , Jack,” Shitty laughed, smacking a hand to his bare stomach. “You really got me for a second.” 

“I’m not signing, for real,” Jack said, looking down at his knees. “But, uh. I’m considering grad school.” 

“What?” Shitty flopped down onto the bed next to Jack, half in his lap. “Where? Why? When?”

“Who? How?” Jack chirped, letting Shitty shove his head onto Jack’s shoulder. 

“I’m serious, give me the deets,” Shitty said. “You’re just-  _ not _ playing hockey? What programs have you applied to? Brah-” Shitty sat up, grabbing Jack’s shoulders. “ _ Please _ tell me you’re not going back to Canada.  _ Please _ .” 

Jack chuckled and wrestled Shitty back down next to him. He pretended to be annoyed as Shitty wrapped his arms and legs around him, but Jack was secretly happy about it. “No, I, euh. I got accepted to Samwell’s business program-”

“ _ Business _ ?” Shitty asked, practically climbing onto Jack’s lap, half-straddling him. “Jack, as fine as your ass looks in dress pants, you don’t strike me as the CEO-type. You’re not evil enough.” 

Jack smirked at him. “I could say the same about you and being a lawyer.” 

“Touché, you beautiful fucker,” Shitty said, settling back down again. “Brah, you’re gonna be  _ here _ ? In Samwell? That’s fucking ‘swawesome. What’re you gonna do with a business degree? Gonna become an agent or something? Start a business?”

“I’m not sure,” Jack said quietly. “Bittle and I have talked about...I dunno. Opening his bakery, maybe, but I think he’s made for bigger things. Maybe I could become his manager, help him make his blog into a career or something.” 

“You and Bits would be the ‘swawesomest team,” Shitty said with a grin. “He’d charm all your investors, and you’d keep him in line. Amazing.” 

“Ha, yeah.” Jack fell into silence, unsure of what else to say. Shitty nuzzled his head up against Jack’s chin, just to elicit a laugh. 

“You know we love you no matter what, right?” Shitty asked, more quiet than Jack had ever heard him. “Me, the team, your family...we just want you to be happy.” 

“Yeah.” Jack swallowed back the tears that threatened to fall. “Yeah. Thanks, Shits.” 

“Love you, brother,” Shitty whispered. “Love you to the moon and back.” 

Jack smiled and ran a hand through Shitty’s hair. “Love you, too.” 

 

* * *

They didn’t cuddle. 

Jack hadn’t exactly expected that sort of comfort Bittle—he wasn’t  _ Shitty— _ but he did have to push down the urge to reach over and pull Bittle to him. 

There was something to be about sharing a bed with someone. There was comfort in the warmth Bittle radiated, in the sound of his breathing, the faint movements of the bed as he shifted and settled. Jack watched him through all of this, watched the brush of his eyelashes on his cheeks, watched the perpetual smile of his lips fade into a slight part. 

One of Bittle’s hands rested on the mattress between them, in that no-homo no-man’s-land. Chewing on the inside of his cheek, Jack slowly reached out to take it in his own. 

Bittle’s eyes opened slowly, halfway, and he smiled, tightening his grip on Jack’s fingers. That smile melted the tension from Jack’s shoulders and the rough warmth of Bittle’s hand was all that filled his mind as he drifted off to sleep. 

When they woke in the morning, they were still holding hands. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted to [tumblr.](http://alphacrone.tumblr.com/post/164791212927/in-which-jack-does-not-in-fact-go-into-the-nhl)  
> Check out my online novel, [The Discourt Knife.](http://thediscourtknife.com/)


End file.
